


Therefore I Am

by Red_evil_twist



Category: Cable (Comics), Deadpool (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demonic Possession, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Messiah Wars, Necromancy, Retelling, Witch Hunts, and some angsty stuff of course, and there're also Wolverine's and Laura's cameos for some reason, because why the hell not, kinda-sorta, no time-travel, yeah so basically it's Messiah Wars magic!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-27 08:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16215593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_evil_twist/pseuds/Red_evil_twist
Summary: What makes you alive? What makes you human? What makes you - you?These are the questions all of them have been asking themselves. There is a man of faith, there is a man of power, there is a man who volunteered, and there is a girl who struggles to survive, all connected together.Oh, and there's a certain wild card mercenary, too.





	1. Believing

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, once again - all hail to [Quakey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quak3y/pseuds/Quakey) for editing this <3
> 
> Also, I would recommend listening to "ASP - Me" to set up the mood. Think of this song as not-official soundtrack, sort of.

The night was unusually dark for this time of year. The moonless sky seemed black and hollow.

Lucas Bishop was staring into the abyss below. The white mist was crawling somewhere on the bottom of it, like a giant snake nesting around the rock. Lucas exhaled slowly, thinking about his own kind of abyss nesting in his heart: his breath turned into a thin cloud of steam in the cold air.

Good, he thought. It was good. The colder it was getting, the more chances were that his enemies would die on their own – or, at least, would get weak enough to be finally hunted down. Maybe this time, he added to himself, there wouldn’t be any civilian victims as a collateral damage. He didn’t want to repeat what happened the last time he was so close to his target.

He turned around to look at the castle above him that was glowing with the unnatural blue lights – and would have certainly jumped in surprise, if not for all those years of training and battles.

 _It_ was standing there, just a few feet from him, not moving, not blinking, not making a single sound. Not even _breathing_. Its eyes were gleaming white through the holes in the mask, rather unnerving.

Lucas swore under his breath, slowly lowering down his sword.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Sneaking up on me… again. I told you not to do it anymore, you filthy creature.”

How did it even managed to do it, every goddamn time? And how long did it stand there silently, observing him, before he finally noticed? After all these years, Lucas considered it to be pretty much impossible to sneak up on him like that. Many of his enemies had tried to during his self-imposed crusade. And only this – this _thing_ – had ever succeeded in doing so. Several times, even.

It grinned at his reaction, looking way too smug and amused for something that was not even properly _alive_ in the first place.

“Master is waiting for you,” it said. “I was told to escort you there. The night is dark, the road here is quite dangerous… he was worried you could get lost on the way.”

Its voice sounded mocking. As if the words weren’t its own, and he would have said something else, if given a choice – something witty and downright insulting, judging by that annoying grin on its face – but decided to act as a simple herald of its Master’s will instead.

There was always something… disturbing in this creature. It was slightly _different_ from the others in Stryfe’s possession. Like it was hiding something, and Lucas didn’t trust it a bit, even more than he didn’t trust its Master.

He stepped closer, looming over it threateningly.

“You do that again, with the sneaking,” he warned dryly. “And I’ll drop you of this rock in an instant. Understood?”

The creature cocked its head to the side, looking not impressed in the slightest. “Oh, good sire,” he said with the same lazy mockery. “Please forgive me, for I am no more than a mere servant of my mighty Master! Now, follow my steps, would you? There are some new tricky traps on the way, and we don’t want you to activate them, do we?”

With that, it turned around to lead the way. Lucas followed it reluctantly, not sure if there really were some traps on the road to the castle or the obnoxious creature just made it up, but he wouldn’t put that past Stryfe, to be honest. The man was sometimes getting even more paranoid than Lucas himself.

The castle was _dead_ silent, as usual. There were guards, of course, and there were some servants – not always mutually exclusive – but Stryfe didn’t allow them to talk. He wasn’t much of a company guy, Lucas figured.

As he walked through the hallways, other creatures observed him, turning their heads in his direction. One of them, looking slightly more _feral_ than the rest, visibly sniffed the air, wrinkling its nose in something like disgust or suspicion. The talking one, the one who was escorting Lucas to the war room, snickered at that, but didn’t pause to say something to the feral. It was then when Lucas suddenly realized: the feral one wasn’t, in fact, looking and sniffing at _him_. It was the _other_ who drew its attention.

Stryfe was hovering over the big elliptical table, surveying the map of the kingdom, and waved a hand vaguely as they entered the room, gesturing for Lucas to come near.

“Necromancer,” Lucas greeted him. “I was told you were expecting me. Got some news about our mutual friend there?”

Said Necromancer squinted at the map, tapping his fingers over the table. “He is close. I can _feel_ that he’s close now, Bishop. And I think I have an idea where he might be going…”

“Are you sure the girl is still with him? It’s been a few years since the Accident.”

Stryfe snorted dismissively.

“ _Of course_ she is, Bishop. I know my brother. If some poor soul is unfortunate enough to get under his custody, he won’t abandon it easily. He pictures himself as a savior, as a protector of all the weak and discarded ones… He’s keeping her safe, of that I’m fairly certain.”

“Not for long,” Lucas promised solemnly, more to himself than to Necromancer.

This time, he thought, this time he’d make it sure. The Devil’s offspring had to die. No more villages burnt down. No more crying children left as orphans. No more fires of the Inquisition. No more innocent lives taken by mistake in this horrible, horrible war…

Stryfe traced his finger over the map, circling around some farther part of the forest.

“He’s heading east,” he continued. “He and his precious cargo are not welcome in the north, where he came from, as well as in the south. The western part of the country is filled with rogues and all the kind of scumbags, and I don’t think my brother would drag a sweet young girl in such a place. But he must be desperate by now, and I’m sure he needs at least some supplies to move on. So we intercept him here,” he pointed at the small village on the eastern side of the forest. “When he would inevitably show up.”

Someone chuckled behind them. They both turned their heads to the sound: the creature from before was standing there, obviously eavesdropping. Lucas frowned. He almost forgot it was there.

“You have something to say at this, Wade?” Stryfe asked, rather patiently.

 _Wade_. The thing even had a name, then. And the Necromancer was – what, asking its _advice_ now? Unbelievable. Lucas rolled his eyes in irritation.

“Well,” it smirked. “I just think that you might be a teeeeny-tiny  wrong there, Master. About where our man will be willing to go, and where he won’t. Namely, the east and west directions”

Stryfe now was turned to him fully, arms crossed over his chest. He seemed to be curious and a little annoyed at the same time with this interference.

“And what makes you think so, exactly?”

It shrugged, like they both were missing something very obvious here.

“See, you are his brother. And you know him. So the man must know _you_ , right?” It waited for the reaction. When none followed, it sighed. “It’s just, you’re expecting him to go east. Which is why, if I were him, I would do exactly the opposite. I’d go west and try my luck with the scumbags – it’s a lot easier to hide where no one is looking closely enough to the strangers.”

Stryfe… smiled. It was a warm, affectionate smile, which was a very rare sight on the  Necromancer’s face, and Lucas suddenly felt sick.

“Come here,” Stryfe commanded, reaching out with his hand.

The creature – _Wade_ – obediently shuffled closer. Stryfe placed his palm on its cheek, and Wade leaned into his touch immediately, like a cat, practically _purring_.

“You’ve been waking up again lately, haven’t you?” Stryfe asked, seeking out something in the creature’s eyes intently.

The smirk didn’t quite reach those dark eyes. Lucas saw something flicker in its face, some unreadable emotion that was there only for a split second.

“I can be more use to you when I’m awake.”

Its tone was calm and resigned, while its mouth was pressed in a thin line. Whatever Stryfe did to keep his puppets under his control, Wade clearly didn’t felt any enthusiasm towards it. Stryfe stroked its face gently, and his fingertips started to glow blue.

“It’s dangerous for you, my dear, to be awake for too long,” the glowing now was surging over the creature’s head. “Maybe next time, when and if I need your creative insight. For now… you go back to sleep.”

Lucas watched warily as the creature’s eyes grew dull and hollow, like the sky outside. No more secrets, no more words unsaid were left there. Its shoulders slumped. Its face visibly relaxed, denied any expression. By the time the Necromancer was finished and pulled back his hand, there was no _Wade_ anymore – just another silent meat puppet, looking exactly like what it was supposed to look like: a walking, lifeless _corpse_ with no will and no wishes, held together only by the stitches of the abominable, forbidden magic.

“Good boy,” Stryfe smiled again, pleased at his work. “Go stand by the door.”

Without another word, it stalked to the door, turned around and froze there. Stryfe seemingly lost his interest in it after that.

“You should keep it on a shorter leash,” Lucas said, disgusted to the bone with the whole scene.

For a second, Stryfe looked at him as if he would have preferred to put a leash on _him_ just to make sure where Lucas’s loyalty lay once and for all. The lack of trust was, indeed, very much mutual here.

“I will,” Stryfe replied shortly. “Now, shall we get back to more pressing matters, or do you have more priceless advice to share?”

He was right: no need to waste time on what was fairly unimportant. So they discussed the proper course of action about what to do with their ‘mutual friend’, as Stryfe referred to him. Not that there were many actions to take, frankly speaking: warn people in the village to the east, send some soldiers there, and – as, Stryfe added, Wade might have a point – send someone to the wild lands to the west, too. You couldn’t be too careful when it came to a man like Cable, after all.

“I’d offer you a guest bedroom in the castle,” Stryfe said eventually, when all was more or less clear, “if only I wasn’t convinced by now that you prefer not to spend the night here, if given a choice. So, I’ll send Wade with you. He will escort you to the village.”

Lucas shook his head. He didn’t want to stay in the castle full of the living dead – it gave him some nasty nightmares – but he didn’t want those things to go with him to his chapel, either. He certainly didn’t need Stryfe’s spies following him around.

“No. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine on my own.”

Stryfe only shrugged. “As you wish.”

Passing through the doors, Lucas cast a look at the creature. It was still _asleep_ , with its eyes open. It didn’t move an inch when Lucas left.

And yet, somehow… he got the vague impression that it was _listening_ to the whole conversation. It should have been impossible, as far as Lucas knew.

Still…

He shook his head again, furiously, heading outside through the backdoor. He had enough concerns of his own already without wasting more thoughts on this issue. Cable, he reminded himself firmly, Cable was the one he should think of. Cable and the girl. He couldn’t allow himself any distractions.

Lucas stood at the edge of the road, once again looking into the abyss, and let out a sigh of exasperation.

He wondered if he was doing the right thing, after all. Aligning himself with the Necromancer, just to get as close as possible to his target… He wondered if there was any redemption left for him.

God, forgive him, for he had sinned. And continued to do so, nevertheless.

 _But the demon must die_ , Lucas thought. There was simply no other choice.

“This time, I’ll finish this”, he promised. “All of it ends here.”

The abyss remained perfectly silent.

There are a couple places like this in chapter 1 and 2.  I saw one place where you already had the «the», so I assume that“s the desired way to do it?  I think it sounds better, for what it“s worth.

 

If doing it the other way (Bishop instead of the Bishop, Necromancer instead of the Necromancer), it just needs to be done consistently.


	2. Caring

2.

It was a typical morning in the woods, with white hoarfrost crisp on the fallen leaves, when Nathan realized two equally bad things.

One, winter was getting closer and closer with every day, which meant they needed to find shelter as soon as possible. Last winter, on one particularly freezing night out here, she nearly started a forest fire while just trying to get _warm_. Trees covered in snow didn’t burn well, but still. It was too dangerous to let her lower her guard because of the cold.

Two – and the thought wasn’t new to him, but was just as unpleasant as the first time – he was getting too _old_. Back in the day he could sleep pretty much anywhere, under any weather conditions, and didn’t lose even a bit of his ability to function. Now, when he wasn’t so young and full of strength anymore, it was getting a bit… difficult. Sleeping on the bare ground in the cold, giving most of his food to the girl, and having to cover miles and miles of road anyway. His back felt stiff and sore after waking up. He tired out fast. His body seemed too rigid and too slow. If someone dared to attack them one of these mornings, when the cold made it especially hard for him to move quickly, he doubted they could fight back as well as they used to.

_They_. Right. Nathan shook his head and ran a hand down his face. It was hard for some reason, to remember that he shouldn’t think about the possibility of a fight in terms of _them_. The last time she engaged in combat, it didn’t end well. It was a close call. Too close for his liking. He couldn’t risk it again. He couldn’t risk _her_.

Even if he _had_ taught her how to fight, over all these years. And even if she _was_ an unexpectedly talented student. But it didn’t matter, not really, if she –

“You know, some people start their mornings with breakfast, not with overthinking everything they can right after waking up.”

He sat up, trying very hard not to cringe at the pain in his back, and turned to look at his companion. She was already awake, of course, sitting by the fire and roasting something that looked like a very bony crow on a stick.

“I wasn’t overthinking everything. You caught a bird?”

“Sure you were. Still are.” She glanced at him with a mischievous hint of a smile. “You’ve got that little frown on your forehead every time when you’re getting concerned. Which is – a lot, if you ask me. Are you aware that sometimes that frown doesn’t go away even when you’re sleeping?” she snorted. “And – yeah, I caught a bird. Didn’t sleep well, had plenty of time to hunt.”

Nathan stilled immediately, stopping in the middle of yawn.

“Bad dreams?” he asked cautiously, trying – and failing – not to sound as worried as he felt.

She shrugged, not looking up from the fire. The dark circles under her eyes had become painfully obvious in the dim morning light.

“As usual,” she said, reluctant to elaborate. She rarely shared what exactly she saw in those dreams with him; Nathan wasn’t sure why. Was she trying to save him from more worrying, or was it just too scary to tell anybody about?

He moved closer to sit behind her and reached toward the fire, letting the warmth envelop his cold fingers.

“You’ll tell me if it gets really bad, right?” he asked her. “We should take some safety measures if –”

“I’m fine.”

Still, she refused to look at him properly. Nathan touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“ _Hope_.”

She sighed and lifted her head finally, relaxing her defenses a little.

“Of course I’ll tell you, Nathan. Look, I’m fine,” she held his gaze firmly. “It’s nothing, I promise. The dreams are… just dreams. It’s not getting worse yet. I know the stakes, and I can handle it.”

He nodded, trusting her enough to not push it further. She was growing up so quickly, he noticed. A few years ago, when he found her, she seemed so afraid of herself, afraid of that _thing_ inside her – and now she sounded so… sure. The older she got, the harder it was sometimes to see more than a faint shadow of the lost little girl who cried in his arms near her burning village.

She’d gotten stronger since then, that’s for sure. But was it really a good thing, if he’s honest? What if that _essence_ became stronger, too, along with its _vessel_?..

They ate in silence. The crow meat for some reason tasted even worse than their usual grass soup; still, it was food, and any kind of food was welcome under the circumstances. There weren’t many animals or birds here, in this damned forest. The closer they got to the borders of the Necromancer’s territory, the less inhabited their surroundings became. Nathan felt it himself – the venom of dark magic saturating the ground and the air around them. He wasn’t sure how the farmers outside the forest managed to survive here.

He looked at the sky, gray and grim from the veil of clouds. He knew that if he climbed some high tree and looked to the northeast, he could see the castle from here. Stryfe didn’t leave him much of a choice except to come here, in his lands, where Nathan and the girl were an easy target. He made sure they were hunted down pretty much everywhere nearby and that they couldn’t find a safe place to hide.

Someday… someday there would be nowhere left to run. They didn’t talk about it. Nathan figured they could try and go beyond the sea then… if they could make it to the port town. But it was way too far. For now they needed to get through the winter first.

“If it gets… _‘really bad’_ …” Hope started, her head low and voice quiet.  “Would you… will you...? I mean. I don’t want to hurt anybody. I – I don’t want to hurt _you_.”

The wind howled through the woods, making her red hair dance around her head like a flame. The forest fell silent.

Nathan felt something tightening painfully in his chest. He knew very well what she was asking from him – although he wished he didn’t.

“I will take care of you,” he promised her, softly. “No matter what. I know the stakes, too, remember?”

She studied his face for a while. Then smiled. Weakly.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He ruffled her hair, a little awkward. He wasn’t her father, not really. But she was _his_ responsibility, anyway. She didn’t have anyone else by her side.

And that meant he was the only one who could stop her, if the _essence_ took control… Not the kind of duty he was very excited about.

“Someone’s watching us,” she warned suddenly. _“There.”_

He hadn’t hear anything besides the wind and the low hiss of the fire, but in the moment she raised her head something _shifted_ behind the trees where her eyes – _yellow, glowing eyes instead of bright green_ – were trained, and there was some barely present rustling in the leaves.

Nathan rose to his feet in a split second, ready to fight, ready to defend them both, momentarily forgetting about his sore back and his stiff muscles.

“Who’s there?” he called, clenching at the hilt of his jagged blade.

No reply. Not even a sound.

Nathan took off in the blink of an eye, counting on catching the unknown guest off guard – his opponents usually didn’t expect him to move this fast, not with how tall and big he appeared – but failed, apparently; whoever it was, they were already running away through the woods by the time Nathan got there.

He spotted a human figure, clad in white and black, with what probably was a mask or a hood over its head. Hope wasn’t mistaken. Someone really had been watching them – who knows for how long.

For a moment he was tempted to swallow the bait and chase the intruder. To grab them, to punch them in the face, to get the information he needed – about who sent them and what for. 

He didn’t chase them, though, realizing it could be some sort of a trap. He didn’t know how many of them were there, nor what their intentions might be, besides the obvious – to take Hope. So instead he watched the intruder disappear, noticing how strangely they moved – like a circus artist, no less, leaping constantly, and bouncing off trees, and doing some seemingly unnecessary flips in the air.

Not the Bishop, then. He never moved in that ridiculous acrobatic style. Not the Necromancer, either… but maybe one of his pets. Great. As if it wasn’t bad enough for them already. Nathan frowned and hurried back.

“Get up,” he instructed Hope, who was waiting for him where he left her. It had taken him two years to teach her how important that was. “We can’t stay here any longer.”

She nodded, already packed up and ready to move – not that there was much to pack, after all. They always traveled light.

Her eyes were green again. Had he simply imagined the yellow glow, or was it really there just a minute ago?  Nathan couldn’t tell.

“How did you know he was there?” he asked, when they had put out the fire and left their little camp. “I didn’t hear him coming.”

He wouldn’t have survived for so long if he wasn’t capable of noticing the enemy approaching. Was he really getting that old? Or was he too focused on Hope and her request and let his guard down?

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged again. “I just knew.”

Then she looked at the sky, just like he did before their solitude was broken, and added pensively:

“He didn’t breathe, that man. I don’t know how I know it. But he didn’t breathe, Nathan. And his heart wasn’t beating. _At all_.”

Nathan didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make her concerns even bigger.

They were heading west.

 


	3. Controlling

Bathed in the moonlight, the castle seemed to be built entirely of solemn dreams, shifting shadows and quivering silver.

Unlike the other night, this time the sky was covered in stars, like a king’s cloak covered with infinite diamonds. Flickering and glowing with a distant, cold light in the velvet darkness above, the stars were promising him all the glory and power he wished for.

Reaching up his hand, Stryfe clenched his fist, as if to grab a handful of those stars – and crush them to dust. Then he smiled, humming at his own thoughts in silent agreement.

The night was cold and quiet. It was always quiet here now, since he made sure no one would ever come near the castle without his permission.  The peasants, as well as the merchants and the thieves, were warned to stay away from the Necromancer’s territory.  Back in the day, when he had only recently came to this land, the road to his castle was lined with dead bodies rotting on spikes. A bit of overkill, maybe, but – it got him what he wanted: their fear and respect. And, also, the perfect solitude of his deserted little kingdom, the beautiful silent harmony of which was not meant to be interrupted.

From the balcony of the main tower, he could see for miles and miles below. As far as his gaze could reach, there was only the dark, ominous mass of woods, rustling and whispering in the wind like a giant beast coiled on the ground, waiting to be awakened. The forest seemed to be _breathing_ on its own.

He wondered if his dear brother could sense this too. How long was Nathan was planning to hide there? How long would it take, until Nathan would fall into his trap and finally, _finally_ do him the favor of relieving Stryfe of his petty existence?

He scoffed to himself. There he stood, at the top of the world, with everything he ever wanted to accomplish… and still he was thinking about his brother. What a way to waste such a beautiful night.

No, this definitely wouldn’t do. Nathan had taken enough from him already. No need to let him take anything else.

He reached out with his mind to locate his servants, more out of habit than as an actual distraction: all the human-shaped blue lights scattered across the castle. Some were cleaning the rooms and the hallways. One was sitting in the kitchen, waiting for his order to start cooking another meal. One was making his bed beside him. Four were monitoring the perimeter. Several were guarding the gates. No gossip, no arguments, no useless noise, nothing extraordinary, nothing to break the perfect silence –

_Ah_. There. Two of his servants, by the look of it, were about to get in a fight. One with his claws out, the other – with his swords drawn.

Stryfe sighed, but his smile only grew fonder. Of course, it was his usual – and his favorite – troublemaker.

_“Wade,”_ he called through their mental connection. “ _You aren’t bothering Logan again, are you?”_

The brighter figure all but jumped on  the spot at hearing his voice. Then, reluctantly, sheathed  his swords – Wade must have realized he’s being watched. He couldn’t exactly answer him the same way, but somehow Stryfe got the impression that if he could, it would’ve been something like – _who, me? Why, Master, never!_

Stryfe chuckled.

_“Come here.”_

Several minutes later, there was a familiar sound of footsteps in the room behind him, light and energized at the same time: Wade walked like someone who had to rely on their speed and reflexes most of the time in order to survive. He moved like a trained assassin.

When the footsteps stopped, Stryfe turned around.

“I assume you did what I asked?”

Wade smirked smugly with the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t _supposed_ to do that, actually. So, waking up yet again, Stryfe guessed. It happened more and more often lately; he wasn’t sure why.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure how to completely prevent it from happening, either.

“Yeah. Followed him to the abandoned chapel. Watched him a little.  Nothing exciting. The guy lives alone, does pretty much nothing during the day, unless some village folks occasionally stop by to bring him food or ask him to do the boring shit those church guys are supposed to do, like pray for their dead relatives or whatever.”

“The Bishop didn’t notice you, did he?”

Wade scoffed.

“Of course he didn’t! Please. I’m a professional, remember?”

And the more awake Wade became, the cockier he got. This was becoming an issue, and Stryfe knew he should address it, sooner or later… but, maybe, not right now. The night was good: might as well indulge himself just a little bit more to properly enjoy it.

“Yes,” he agreed, gesturing for Wade to come closer. “You are. Now, come take your reward, my dear professional.”

After all, he decided, what was the point of being at the top of the world, if he wasn’t allowed to have some small pleasures of life from time to time?

And Wade was so eager to please him…

Maybe it was the true reason why he kept letting it happen. Wade wasn’t the first of his experiments who managed to somehow slip out of his control; there were others before. Like Creed and Daken, whose blood thirst eventually had grown so strong that they stopped listening to his orders, and he had to eliminate them both for the sake of his cause. There were several others too, whose names Stryfe hadn’t even bothered to fish out from their memories, for they weren’t strong enough to preserve any semblance of personality. When he had only begun to comprehend the limits of his power, there were many unfortunate servants who tended to break out of control at the most inconvenient moments. No matter how good he was at reviving the corpses, he was never able to predict exactly how the death magic would affect the decaying mind of each servant.

Wade, however, was different. He neither broke nor tried to disobey him, he just… seemed positively more _present_ and _aware_ than he should be. Demonstrated having an actual opinion.  Had a rather expressive face. Even went so far as showing a sense of humor, which was definitely new.  But he stayed by Stryfe’s side nevertheless, and was still ready to execute his orders at a moment’s notice. He was curious, and smart, and always managed to surprise him – which was, well, a little addictive, to tell the truth. None of his other creations could fascinate him the way Wade did.

He knew it was a dangerous, slippery road, to let one of his minions acquire so much power and freedom. And he promised himself that one day he would get rid of Wade, would terminate him for good before said minion should become a real problem.

But until then… temporary solutions would have to work.

When he was done with the _rewarding_ , he let Wade stay in his bed for a little longer than usual. Wade’s body felt warm under his arm, his chest was rising and falling evenly. Stryfe allowed it: there was no arguing that _certain activities_ required both of the bodies involved to at least partially function. The rush of blood had some benefits after all.

They lay like that for a while, tired and satisfied. The moon was hovering at the window indifferently, like a silver plate on a black cloth. Absentmindedly brushing his fingers through Wade’s hair, Stryfe thought of how cold it must be outside for his brother, to sleep on the bare ground instead of in a warm, soft bed… But Nathan deserved so much more suffering. Maybe he shouldn’t kill him. Maybe he should capture him instead, let him watch as the girl died at the Bishop’s hands, and then lock him up in the castle prison and –

“Can I ask something?”

Turning his mind back to the present, Stryfe looked at Wade. Ah, the _talking_. Sometimes he forgot how annoying that could be.

“Yes, Wade?”

“Have you ever, like, really cared about someone? Besides yourself, I mean.”

Unbidden, the image of his father – or, rather, of the man who had raised him – popped into his mind. How desperately he wanted his approval. Wanted to make him proud. Wanted to – receive from him something that the man just couldn’t – and wouldn’t – give. He remembered the cold look of disdain on his guardian’s face after another failed attempt to take Nathan’s life by his order.

( _“I am not your father, boy,”_ the man said, merciless as ever. _“And you are nothing to me, if you can’t even finish the simplest task I give you. You are not going to achieve anything in your life, while your brother is still out there, and you know it.”)_

Stryfe cast the memory away and decided instead to focus on Wade’s strange behavior.

“Why? Have you remembered something from your past life?”

Wade shrugged. Stryfe changed his position a little to have a better look at Wade’s face.

“Not sure. I mean… I don’t remember _caring_. I think I _did_ care, I must have, but I kind of forgot how it actually felt, you know?”

Stryfe stroked his head, as if petting the cat. He didn’t like it when Wade was thinking too much – if he had wanted thinking soldiers, he would have recruited _living_ ones. But curiosity got the best of him.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a while, Wade didn’t say anything, his forehead creased with the effort of concentration.  A lonely cloud slowly floated by the window, covering the moon. The shadows dancing in the room grew thicker.

“I remember fighting,” Wade said finally. “Like, a lot. And killing – lot of that, too. Blood spilling, limbs severed, throat slicing, doing the old-fashioned stabby-stab – fun times.”

He paused. Stryfe waited patiently, not interrupting. So far, it was nothing unexpected: he already figured that Wade must had been a mercenary of some sort – on the rare occasions when he needed to use Wade’s fighting skills, he could tell this man must have had a lot of experience in that area.

“I remember the pain,” Wade added, more quietly. “I remember how it hurt. Dying. Never want to relive that particular experience again, thank you very much. Wasn’t very pleasant.”

Another pause. Wade stared at the ceiling, expression weird and unreadable. Stryfe never saw him looking like this. The cloud disappeared, and with the return of moonlight to the room, Stryfe noticed some nasty-looking scar tissue crawling up Wade’s chest and left shoulder – just an hour ago, it definitely wasn’t there.

“And also…”

Wade slowly exhaled, eyes wide open and almost blank.

“I remember the _fire_. So much fire, literally everywhere. I thought it was gonna be the end of the freaking world.”

Yes, Stryfe thought to himself. The fire. It was almost hard to believe now, that, when he first found him, Wade’s body was burnt heavily, like he was another victim to the Inquisition’s way of “purifying” the witches. But he clearly wasn’t executed: the landscape around him was burnt, too. And there was no grave. Apparently, no one cared enough about Wade to bury him properly.

Now, lying in his bed, there wasn’t the fire victim. There was only his loyal, ever so loyal, handsome servant – blonde hair, lean muscles, charming smile, nice skin. Stryfe intended to keep him this way. He liked being surrounded by beautiful, perfect things.

So he cupped Wade’s cheek in his palm and said: “It must be excruciating for you, my darling. The memory of your own death is not something I wish you to have.”

Wade froze under his touch, knowing very well what it meant, and went so far as grabbing his wrist in some desperate attempt at delaying the inevitable.

“You’re putting me back to sleep now?” he asked, sounding nervous. Thinking too much again, obviously. Stryfe didn’t need him to be _that_ smart yet. “Is this – is this necessary? I mean. Are you tired already?” His voice went back to his usual playful tone, but his eyes were – on the edge between hopeful and almost-but-not-quite-scared. “We can have another round. Or two. Or three, you know, with me healing so quickly, and the night is still young, right? Also, I can be really quiet, if you want me to. Maybe we could – ”

“Wade,” Stryfe covered his mouth, smiling at him patronizingly. “You know I cannot let you stay like this too long. Don’t make it harder than it is, alright? If you are going to resist this, I might reconsider how many privileges I tend to give you. Don’t forget who you belong to.”

At this, Wade released his hand, complying quietly, and looked away. Stryfe’s fingertips started to glow. He stroke Wade’s head again in a soothing gesture.

“Don’t worry. When we discover Cable’s location, I’ll let you bring him in by yourself. If there’s enough time, of course. I promise.”

With the blue light of magic whispering him to sleep, Wade gave up.

“Okay.”

Then, the spark of conscious in his eyes went out. His breathing stopped. The burns over his shoulder smoothed, as if they hadn’t been there at all. Satisfied with the result, Stryfe ordered Wade to get dressed and go guard the room outside.

Soon enough, he was alone again – with the stars, the moon and the cool night air, in the perfect stillness and silence of his castle.


End file.
